Love's Emancipator
by MsJimmy
Summary: The story of Bridget and Franky and their fight for a forbidden love. Bridget x Franky / Fridget. Set after the ending of season 3 - Continuation of oneshot "Breaking the Rules"
1. Breaking the Rules

**AN: Here is some much needed Fridget. Unfortunately, Nicole da Silva's absence has forced me to use my own imagination. So this is my rendition. I will also add, this couple and show has somehow made enough impression on me to bring me out of a 7-year writing hiatus. So, kudos to Wentworth, and thank you for the characters/story. And thank you talented actresses ;)**

 **Also, I apologize for any lack of authenticity in language. I am American, and as such don't have any familiarity with the wonderful Aussie dialect. Anyway, enjoy.**

* * *

 **Breaking the Rules**

Franky turned, looking to find where the honk had come from. Her face then lit up as she saw the sleek convertible, and the just as sleek woman stepping out of it. Without a second thought she moved towards the older woman, almost as if her legs had a mind of their own.

She had been waiting for this moment for too long. Lately the wait had seemed even more excruciating. It was one thing when Franky was just hitting on Ms. Westfall with her dally-like flirtations. She had never really expected anything to actually come of it, despite what she would often imagine. But since that day with Bridget in the prison kitchen, the spark between the two had become real. Which meant it was no longer something to just imagine. Now the moment had come, Franky was free. She moved closer with a hurried step, not wishing to take any more time. She closed the gap between them and reached out to pull Bridget in for a kiss.

Bridget grabbed onto to Franky, just as hastily kissing her back. The kiss was short, but long overdue. The wait had been hard for her as well. Initially, she had tried not to engage so intimately with the prisoner, but somehow the woman's persistence had prevailed. At some point, she realized she really cared for this woman, more so than a therapist should. Now though, she wasn't Franky's therapist. Now it was different.

She moved, turning Franky around so that now she was the one pinned against the car. She gently grasped the back of Franky's neck and pulled her in for another kiss, this time a little less hastily. She could feel the younger woman smile against her lips. After a moment, she pulled back, now looking Franky in the eyes. They both smiled, with genuine joy and relief.

"Gonna drive me off into the sunset now, are you Gidge?" Franky smirked, with a glint of mischief.

Bridget laughed, having missed the woman's witty humor. Before she could really respond, Franky gave her a grin and another quick peck on the lips then stepped to the side, moving smoothly around the car to the passenger side. Rather than open the door, she just jumped over, plopping down onto the seat.

Bridget smiled at the younger girl, with a feeling of excitement starting to really stir. Franky Doyle was now free, and was in her car, just looking up at her with that cheeky grin of hers.

"Well come on," Franky teased, "Or you afraid you're gonna miss this place?"

Bridget just laughed, wanting more than anything to get the hell away from this place, and to just take Franky with her. She realized she had been staring at the woman and so looked away, now feeling a blush starting to touch her cheeks. She opened the car door and slid seamlessly in, then turned the key in the ignition and started the engine. She turned and looked again at Franky, the younger woman just shamelessly watching her every move.

"So Franky," Bridget continued to smile, "You're free. What do you want to do?"

"More like who," Franky gave her a devious grin, as she couldn't help it. She was now alone with this woman, with mere inches now separating them.

Bridget immediately felt her face flush and she turned away with a little laugh. "I meant," Bridget continued, "Is there anywhere you want to go? Anything you've wanted to eat, maybe? I know prison food isn't exactly the most extravagant of meals."

"Gee Gidge, that hurts my feelings," Franky laughed, the sarcasm in her voice obvious. Franky may have worked in the kitchen, but the quality of food was not something under her control.

Bridget laughed. "So what will it be?"

"You choose," Franky said surely.

* * *

The door closed behind her as she turned looking at the younger woman. She watched as Franky scanned the view of her living room, taking in the looks of her home. She couldn't help but stare. Franky had always intrigued her, both on a professional level and a personal level. She had never met anyone quite like her. She carried a front to the world that was strong and fierce, but underneath the mask was something different. Underneath the mask was something so much more captivating. She was smart, Bridget knew that much. And she was also passionate and restless.

Franky turned, looking back towards Bridget. She tucked her hands into her jacket as she said, "Love what ya'v done with the place."

"Thank you," Bridget laughed a bit, as they were both simply going through the motions of pleasantries. She moved forward into the room, "Please, make yourself comfortable."

Franky just stood where she was though. She didn't have her goofy smile, but rather a somewhat pensive stare. She watched Bridget, her eyes lingering elsewhere for just a moment before returning to look back at her face. She felt oddly immobilized. All she could think of doing was to close the space between them and finally be able to feel the touch of her. It was all she could think of doing since being in such unrestrained, close proximity. But now that they were alone in the privacy of Bridget's home, she knew even just a kiss implicated so much more. Normally, Franky would have no problem making the first move, but now she seemed to hesitate. This woman wasn't just a hookup, and she wasn't going to fuck it up by treating her like one.

Bridget watched as Franky's expression changed. She was used to the woman's humorous front. But now her face was serious, the jokes gone. She took a few more steps, until she was standing right in front of Franky, her face reflecting much of the same expression. Bridget just stood and stared, her arms lightly crossed. She could see Franky's eyes searching into hers, trying to read her thoughts. It always fascinated Bridget how this younger woman operated. She would carry such a casual demeanor, but on the inside, her mind was so busy. On the occasion Franky would open up, it would become obvious to Bridget how often she was actually wrapped up inside her own head. She was always processing and watching, even when she was acting like she wasn't.

"What are you thinking?" Bridget asked quietly.

Franky bit her lip and continued to stare. Bridget watched her for a few seconds more. She could see there was something Franky was holding back.

Franky's eyebrows furrowed, revealing just a glimpse of her uncertainty. "You know you're not just a fuck to chase, right? That's not what we're doing here."

Bridget felt a twinge of a smile creep at the corners of her lips. It was Franky's way of saying she cared, just in different words.

"Oh, no?" Bridget teased for a moment. Then she matched Franky's stare, her own eyes searching the look on Franky's face. She paused, her focus fully captured by the younger woman.

"What are we doing here?" Bridget asked, her voice soft.

Franky's eyes remained locked. "You tell me."

Bridget watched Franky for a moment, knowing she was diverting the question. It was something she did often; something that kept Bridget on her toes, especially during the days when she was her therapist. The younger woman had already made mention that this wasn't just a hookup, which was somewhat revealing of her thoughts. That was far from being completely honest though, and Bridget didn't know how Franky truly felt about her.

Bridget gave Franky a small smile, then turned away and took a few steps into the living room. She sat on the couch and looked back up on Franky, who was still closely watching her, waiting for an answer. The older woman knew she had to be honest with her if she was ever to expect it in return. Bridget knew well enough through her education as a psychologist that it was always better to be honest. The opposite—the dishonesty and lies—will inevitably lead to damage. Bridget cared too much for this woman to not be honest with her.

"I'm not the one who just got out of prison, Franky," Bridget's tone was serious now. "You've been locked up, and it hasn't been up to you the sorts of people you interact with," she stopped for a moment. "It's different for me. I have been outside those walls, and so for me, I know it's a clear choice that I want you here."

Franky's face was expressionless despite the skip she felt in her heart at what Bridget had said; that she wanted her here.

"But you do have a choice now, Franky. You don't have to be here, you can be anywhere you want." Bridget paused, before continuing with an ironic smile, "I'm sure I'm entirely more appealing when in comparison to inmates and guards."

Franky stared. This whole time she had been fretting with the idea that she would fuck something up, and Bridget would end up realizing Franky was just an ex-con and not worth her time. But here Bridget was, in a way, admitting her own fears; that Franky would get bored or perhaps find someone else.

Franky moved towards the couch, never pulling her eyes away from Bridget's. She sat down next to the older woman, her stare intent. "Is that what you think? I didn't have a buffet of women to choose from, so I don't know what I'm missing? Gidge, you've done so much for me."

Bridget grinned, placed her elbow on the armrest, and as she rested her head onto her hand she said, "You don't owe me anything, Franky."

"Yeah, I do actually," Franky replied earnestly. Then, "But that's not why I'm here either."

Bridget didn't say anything. Her face remained still, with a soft smile covering up her emotions.

Franky paused, her jawline tensed. She didn't quite know how to describe what she was feeling. She had been trying to articulate it all within her own thoughts, and had mostly just found a loss for words. She furrowed her eyebrows, frustrated at her own inscrutability.

Bridget remained calm and waited however, which was something Franky had secretly always appreciated in the woman. She just somehow knew when to be silent and wait. She was patient and perceptive, and at the moment, she knew Franky was trying to do something difficult: to actually be open and honest and vulnerable. It was understandably difficult; after all, Franky had never really had many opportunities to be open and honest in her life, at least not in a safe way.

"Gidge, I don't want to be anywhere else," Franky looked away, her voice seeming to slightly falter, "I may have been locked up, but that doesn't mean I don't know when I have something good. I've had enough of the bad to know the difference." Franky stopped and looked back at Bridget, her stare firm and sincere. "You're good for me, Gidge."

Bridget kept her eyes on Franky's. She had come to expect the woman's flirtatious and pert manner, so it was always incredibly salient when Bridget experienced the genuine and real Franky—the one she kept hidden. She knew just the mere act of being open and vulnerable, for Franky, was instinctively a dangerous thing to do. It required a lot of trust on Franky's part.

"I mean," Franky interjected the silence, reverting back to the safety of her humor, "At least I think you're good for me. You did chase after an inmate after all. Not quite sure what that says about you." Franky raised her eyebrows, her tone endearingly teasing.

Bridget immediately laughed. "As I recall," she playfully countered back, "It was you chasing me."

"Oh yeah?" Franky challenged.

Bridget laughed again, enjoying the banter.

"As you recall?" Franky mocked, leaning in closer as her tone became subtly softer.

Bridget's laugh slowly faded as Franky got closer, her face now inches away. Then Franky stopped, her eyes half closed and her lips dangerously close. She moved her hand so that it was gently caressing Bridget's cheek. Then she trailed her fingers along her jawline, her thumb lightly brushing over the woman's bottom lip.

Bridget leaned in, halting just barely before ever so lightly capturing Franky's lips in hers. The kiss was still for a short moment, and then steadily deepened as Franky grabbed the back of her neck. This kiss was different than the one outside Wentworth. This one was hungry, but slow at the same time. Neither of them seemed to rush; rather they both dwelled in each other's touch as the caress continued to render into passion.

Franky pulled back long enough to wrap her hands around Bridget's thighs. In one quick motion, she pulled Bridget underneath her so that she was straddling the older woman. Now lying on her back, Bridget laughed as she slid her hands up Franky's front and around her neck, pulling her back in.

Franky gave Bridget an irresistible smirk as she leaned in close, this time brushing her lips along Bridget's neck. She breathed in; the very smell of the woman causing another surge of desire. She began kissing the woman's neck, hearing Bridget softly moan. Franky moved her hand slowly down the length of her thigh. She could feel Bridget's slender hands move slightly underneath the hem of her shirt, her fingertips treading along the waistband of her pants, sending a chill up her spine.

Without interrupting the kisses along Bridget's neck, Franky began pulling her arms out of the sleeves of her jacket. She carelessly tossed it to the side, and then moved her hands back up the length of Bridget's thighs. Her hands continued their path up past her hip bone and then underneath her shirt. The kisses on Bridget's neck became more intense as she moved her hands along her sides, now finally feeling the touch of the other woman's skin.

Franky's mind was consumed. She had many times before envisioned this moment, always with an underlying expectancy that it was just fantasy. Every kiss seemed like it wasn't enough; she wanted more. She briefly tightened the grip of her hands on the woman's bare skin, almost as if grasping to somehow bring her closer than she already was.

Bridget leaned her head back, her thoughts slowly fading away as the younger woman's hold took over. As unprofessional as it sounds, Bridget had caught herself a few times before imagining what it would be like to feel Franky's touch. Surprisingly, the younger woman's touch was more controlled than she had thought it would be. In some ways, she had expected Franky to be the ravishing type; full of passion and vigor. While there was no doubt that Franky's motions were fueled with passion, there was also an unexpected quality of tenderness. Her hands and lips moved along firmly, but carefully. Her movements weren't sloppy or lascivious, but rather deliberate and venerating.

Bridget felt Franky move her kisses along her neck and onto her collarbone. She inhaled a sharp breath, as she tried to retain some of her coherent thoughts. She knew they needed to be careful. Just because Franky was out didn't mean there weren't still some rules. And right now, they were definitely breaking the rules. Bridget knew very well that they could both get in trouble—Franky even more so. Bridget didn't so much care about losing her job as she did about Franky's situation; Franky could go back to prison for violating her probation. Should anyone see them, Franky could be at risk of getting caught. Not that Bridget was overly paranoid of being caught in her own home; but she also knew the lengths Ferguson had gone to uncover the truths hidden in Bridget and Franky's sessions at Wentworth—however unethical. And it wasn't exactly like Ferguson was currently on good terms with the two of them. She wouldn't put it past The Freak to have someone outside her house, watching. Now that Bridget thought about it, she hadn't even locked the door when they came in.

Bridget's thoughts almost completely fleeted away as she felt Franky move down. She had pushed Bridget's shirt up, revealing her smooth, toned stomach underneath, where she was now placing even more hungry kisses. Bridget let out another soft moan as she moved her fingers through Franky's hair. She had to do something now, for she knew she was going to lose sight of rational thought soon.

"Franky," Bridget managed with a breathy voice.

Franky froze, her lips lingering on the woman's soft skin for just a moment longer before she lifted her head up. She planted her hands on either side of the older woman to balance herself as she smoothly slid back up towards Bridget's face. She hung over Bridget, her face close. Bridget could see she was biting her lip slightly, as if to hold herself back. Franky remained still though; her eyes focused on the other woman's.

Bridget continued to hold Franky's stare. She couldn't help but appreciate the younger woman's deference. Much like the time in one of their sessions when Bridget had told Franky she didn't respect her intimidating tactics—Franky immediately stopped. Here, Franky had surely been just as immersed in their fervor as Bridget was, but had stopped as soon as Bridget said her name. It was part of what made Franky so different from a typical inmate. Sure, she was defiant and stubborn; as well as adept at getting what she wanted, no matter the lengths it took. Indeed, Bridget knew there was a reason she was top dog for so long. But when it came to Bridget, Franky actually listened. Bridget never once felt unsafe with her, and it was moments like these that further impressed that.

Bridget tried to bring her focus back as she said, "The door."

Franky's eyebrows furrowed perplexingly. She gave Bridget a bemused grin as she said, "What?"

Bridget smiled, still gathering her thoughts. "I didn't lock the door."

Franky's expression remained unchanged. She lifted herself up as she looked up towards the door, now sitting vertically. She took a second longer to process what Bridget had said, then looked back down at Bridget and said in a rather amused tone, "Gidge, if this is your idea of sexy-talk…"

"No," Bridget laughed as she playfully shoved Franky's abdomen with her hands. She really did love Franky's wit. "We need to be careful, Franky. You're not even supposed to be here. What if someone sees us?" Bridget's voice became clearer as she started gathering her senses again.

"Like who?" Franky questioned.

"I don't know, Franky. I just…" Bridget sighed. She knew she was being paranoid; however, it wasn't without warrant. A psychopath is a psychopath. At the same time though, she felt a twinge of irritation that Ferguson was even on her mind at all.

Bridget looked at Franky, almost defeated. "I just don't want to get caught over something as stupid as someone seeing us through a window, or someone getting into the house. It's just risky. This is risky."

"This is just turning me on even more," Franky replied with a luring grin.

"I'm serious, Franky," Bridget tried to remain stern, her cheeks slightly blushing. This woman was relentless. She placed her hands on Franky's stomach, her fingers faintly tracing circles. She absently watched the motions of her own fingers, her mind seemingly elsewhere in thought. Then she looked back up to meet Franky's gaze, her eyes conveying the stronger meaning to her words, "You can't go back to prison."

Franky remained still, her expression no longer playful. She held Bridget's stare, understanding the underlying meaning to what she had said. It wasn't that Franky literally couldn't go back to prison; on the contrary she was quite capable of going back to prison. Rather, it was so critical of a matter that it just wasn't an option to go back. Ultimately, that would mean leaving Bridget too. She continued to stare, Bridget's look telling her it was important for her as well.

"Okay," Franky replied simply. There was something about Bridget that made Franky's impulse of recklessness dissolve away. She respected her enough to take her seriously, and she knew she was right. Franky wasn't willing to risk what she had now. Franky gave Bridget a soft smile as she leaned in, briefly kissing her lips once more before she pulled back and said, "We'll be careful."

She jumped to her feet and moved towards the windows, quickly adjusting the shades to block the outside world from seeing in. She looked back at Bridget who was still right where she had left her; her hand now on her face, slightly covering an adoring smile.

Franky then moved away from the windows, and as a way of clarifying where she was headed next said, "The door." She smiled; satisfied with her charming quip to acknowledge the odd—but adorable—way Bridget had interrupted their interaction moments earlier. Bridget laughed as Franky moved away, headed towards the door.

She reached the front door, pausing for a moment as she fumbled with the lock, making sure it was secure before turning on her heel to head back towards the living room. She stopped when she noticed Bridget was no longer on the couch where she had previously been. She furrowed her eyebrows for a moment, and then looked around the room. Her eyes quickly caught sight of the older woman, who was now down the hall, standing in the doorway of what Franky assumed to be her bedroom. Bridget had a somewhat mischievous smile on her face, as she leaned against the doorframe, waiting.

Franky didn't hesitate as she moved towards the woman, her smile reflecting back much of the same mischievousness. She moved quickly, pinning Bridget where she was, causing the woman to laugh. She moved her hands underneath Bridget's shirt, once again feeling the touch of her. She could feel Bridget wrap her arms around Franky's neck as she nuzzled into Bridget's collarbone, letting her lips delicately glide across as she took her scent in once again.

"Any more doors?" Franky's tone was low and drawing, and slightly muffled as she spoke into the woman's delectable skin.

"No," Bridget let out a laugh that was partly moaned.

"Good," Franky growled; that being the only permission she needed. She pulled Bridget's shirt up over her head and tossed it to the floor. She returned her lips to Bridget's neck, lavishing it with devouring kisses. She trailed down her collarbone, and then down her abdomen, stopping briefly to undo the button on her pants. With that, she simply moved her kisses further down, eliciting a soft moan from Bridget. Franky smirked, knowing the effect she was having.

She stood back up, now looking Bridget in the eyes. She paused, taking in the moment. Then she captured Bridget's lips in hers, her hands moving along her front, now more ravenous than before. She kept the woman pinned where she was a few moments longer, before moving them both further into the bedroom. Bridget smiled into Franky's kisses, now fully immersed without distraction. As they moved, Bridget smoothly shut the bedroom door, seeming to shut off the rest of the world entirely.


	2. Anger & Hope

**Anger & Hope**

Bridget shut the door behind her, now finally home, the sky already dark. She stood still for a moment and sighed, feeling the weight of her day finally begin to settle. Working as a prison psychologist was never a walk in the park, but with Ferguson back in general, things were starting to get more tense than usual—both among the inmates and the staff. Today, Bridget was sure, was just the next step towards a much more deeply atrocious end. Today had been the day Bridget went to assess Ferguson. Her injuries were disturbing in and of themselves, but there was also something quite unsettling in the way in which she acted; some sort of self-satisfied quality towards what had happened. Bridget, of course, never found out how she really got the injuries, but she knew Ferguson wasn't telling the truth. Was it part of some much more elaborate, sinister plan? Bridget rubbed her eyes, moving forward towards the kitchen.

She placed her belongings down and leaned against the counter on one arm. Her gaze absently stared at the floor, her thoughts elsewhere. The silence of an empty house hung, and Bridget heard Ferguson's words ring in her head once more; how she somehow knew Franky wasn't around anymore. Her face remained expressionless, though she still felt the pang of her absence.

They were still together, but as far as living together—Franky had left. In many ways, Bridget was proud of her. She was living on her own and figuring out how to be independent. But she missed her. She missed waking up next to her, and she missed seeing her smile when she got home. In some ways, maybe it was better. Their relationship was unorthodox as it was; Franky moving out had actually brought some normalcy to it. Most couples date first and get to know each other, and then move in together and so on. Franky and Bridget had started out quite different. As the prison psychologist, it was her job to get to know Franky on a deeper level than the average acquaintance. Before they were ever even intimate, Bridget knew things about Franky on a personal level that wasn't afforded to others; despite Franky's continuously resilient attempts to hide behind a front. They began a relationship in secret, and then continued to hide it while living together. Now however, it was like they were dating, like they had taken a step back.

She sighed again, forcing herself to pull her thoughts away from Franky and back to Wentworth. She still had to finish her report—inmates who obtain those sorts of injuries hardly go ignored, especially when they're functionally psychotic ex-Governors. She rubbed her temple with her hands, still trying to come to a conclusion as to what to write. Given her position, she had to give her professional opinion on the matter. But with Ferguson, she never knew what to put down in file. She sighed, deciding she'd have to figure it out soon, before she went back in the morning.

* * *

Bridget glanced at the clock beside her bed seeing it was late into the night, then looked back at her work scattered across her bed. She sighed, rubbing her eyes to try and rid some of the fatigue. She leaned back against the headboard, her eyes closed. She breathed in slowly to at least try and relax enough to give herself a brief mental break.

When she opened her eyes again, she glanced once more at her work, but this time with more awareness of the empty bed it was lying on. She had told Franky earlier she wouldn't be free tonight; that unfortunate events at the prison had left her with the tedious, but necessary, paperwork. It was one thing she didn't like about her job; the constant and bureaucratic paperwork.

Bridget suddenly heard the ding on her phone that meant she got a text. She hesitated briefly before reaching across the bed to where it was lying. She then smiled, seeing who it was from.

 _Oi you up?_

Bridget was about to respond, when a second ding went off.

 _Knock knock_

Bridget laughed, feeling herself smiled for what felt like the first time that day. She got up and headed towards the front door. She opened it and then smiled with a tinge of disapproval, "Franky."

Franky was leaning against the door frame, her smile stretched across her face along with her signature dimples.

"What are you doing here, Franky? This is way past your curfew." Bridget still had a smile, despite her reprimanding words.

Franky's eyebrows shot up, her expressions always so characteristic. "Gee Gidge, I'm happy to see you too."

Bridget almost laughed, but continued, "It's not that. I'm just trying to at least not encourage you to violate your probation."

Franky's face puckered exaggeratingly, then she arched her eyebrows as she said, "Well, if you want me to leave, just say so." Franky smirked, knowing that's not what Bridget wanted.

Bridget scoffed a laugh, almost rolling her eyes, as she reached forward and pulled Franky in by the front of her shirt. Franky bit her lip, smiling as she gladly obliged. Bridget shut the door and looked at Franky, her reproving smile now defeated and replaced with a warm one.

"I'm glad you're here," Bridget admitted. She wrapped her arms around Franky's waist and pulled her close.

"Oh are ya?" Franky wrapped her arms around Bridget. "Good. Thought I was grounded for a second." She smirked, not being able to resist the jabbing comment.

Bridget laughed, shaking her head as she pulled away from Franky, moving back towards her bedroom. Her hands leniently pulled Franky with her, leading the way. The rest of the house was dark, the only light coming from the door left ajar in the bedroom. Franky followed, entering the room after Bridget and noticing the work spread across the bed.

Bridget shuffled some things around to clear room for Franky as she said, "I've been working on this report all night."

Franky cocked an eyebrow, "I had a feeling you would be."

Bridget sat on the bed, pulling a folder into her lap. "I'm just not sure what to do with this one. It's Ferguson," she sighed, "I'm trying to figure out what she's doing, and if I'm just playing into a trap by whatever I put into this report."

Franky sat on the bed, "Gidget, that's how she gets in your head—she knows you're trying to stay one step ahead of her."

Bridget groaned, "I know." She hid her face into her hands and rubbed her eyes.

Franky watched, her eyebrows furrowing into concern. "You sure are giving this a lot of thought."

Bridget lifted her face from her hands as she replied tiredly, "Well, I am the psych—I'm supposed to give this a lot of thought. No one else there has the credentials to evaluate a psychopath."

"Some people are just fucked in the head, Gidge. No use trying to figure that out," Franky reasoned.

Bridget sighed, staring blankly at the folder. Franky scooted closer, her eyes imploringly pulling Bridget's attention away from her work. "Come on, this is stressing you out."

"Yeah, but I need to finish it before morning."

"Or what?" Franky's grin was devious and blatantly rousing, as she slowly pulled the report from Bridget's hands and placed it to the side. She leaned in closer, her lips lingering near Bridget's neck, just tempting Bridget to forget the report all together.

Bridget softly laughed and reluctantly groaned, "Franky, I can't. I need to finish this report."

Franky paused, then pulled back, clicking her tongue before she continued, "You ever spend this much time thinking about me, when I was locked up?" Franky asked in a cheeky, almost antagonizing way. She knew Bridget wouldn't rather pay attention to a report than her, but she was playing with that fact. She was toying with her, and it wasn't like Bridget could really say that she wasn't enjoying it.

Bridget laughed, allowing herself to be drawn in. She stared for a moment before answering with a smile, "You know the answer to that," then continued, indulging Franky's diversion, "I thought about you, yeah."

"Oh yeah?" Franky's tone became luring once again. "Like what?"

Bridget laughed. She knew Franky was pulling her away from her report. She watched Franky for a moment, knowing she knew it too. Truth was, she really had thought about Franky during her time in prison, quite a lot. Bridget faintly pursed her lips, deciding to herself that she would play along; but if she was, she was going to give something Franky couldn't toy with.

"At first," Bridget's tone became unexpectedly sincere, "Your anger."

Franky's attention was suddenly captured as she realized the kind of genuine answer Bridget was giving her.

"It's something that drives you. But I also think it's kept you alive." Bridget spoke with understanding, as if it was simply an observation she knew to be true.

"After a while, I started thinking about other things. Your passion, your humor," Bridget listed off the more obvious attributes, "Your bravado." She grinned, remembering the many times Franky's brazen demeanor had landed her in trouble; as well as the many times she had shamelessly pursued Bridget with little regard to ethical boundaries. Franky momentarily returned the grin.

"I thought about how bored and restless you were; how you're far too smart to be locked in a cage," Bridget continued, "I thought about the walls you put up; and how to get through them; if I should try. I remember being impressed actually, by your skill of maneuvering a conversation; always seamlessly diverting the attention away from the things you build those walls around. And if that doesn't work, you fight."

Franky's face was quiet, her eyes serious. Bridget had caught her off-guard. She hadn't expected this sort of answer, and she wasn't sure what to do with it. It was rare anyone could read her with such clear insight, and even rarer that anyone was actually brave enough to say it aloud. Her remarks were simply just an honest perception; albeit an accurate one. It felt uneasy almost, to be this exposed. If it was anyone but Bridget saying these things, she was sure she would put an end to it. Bridget was different though. She didn't look for these things to extort or manipulate, as Franky was so often accustomed to when people gained this sort of information about her. Rather, Bridget just sought to understand Franky—get inside her mind for the sake of seeing it. She didn't have an ulterior motive; she was just a psychologist at heart, and a damn good one.

"And when I did get through a wall," Bridget continued, "I became worried I had pushed you too far. I thought a lot about how worried I was. That was when I realized I cared too much. I thought about you too much, and I was afraid my professional work with you had become clouded; that I wouldn't be able to objectively see if I was hurting you or helping you."

Franky stared, hardly blinking.

"Once I ended our sessions, I was still thinking about you. At that point I could see our professional relationship could no longer continue; it wouldn't have been right. But I still wasn't willing to let you go."

Franky didn't move. She kept her attention on Bridget, her mind reeling with the answer she just gave her. Franky had been provoking a flirtatious response, and instead got something of far deeper substance. She hated to admit it, but she didn't know what to say.

Bridget held her stare for a few seconds longer, her look sincere. Then she smiled as she leaned in close, as if to kiss her, but then slyly grabbed the folder Franky had put down earlier. "I'm going to finish this report," Bridget's voice was low and cunning. She pulled back, her smile still holding.

Franky's face remained transfixed for a moment longer, before her face slowly cracked into a crooked, open smile as she fully realized Bridget had cleverly outmaneuvered her. She licked her teeth as she raised her hands up in front of her, as if to surrender and back off. She moved beside Bridget, grabbing a pillow to lie back on. She lied down, leaning her pillow against the headboard so that her head was still slightly upright. She crossed her arms casually behind her head, her eyes never once breaking away from Bridget. Her smile was still luring, but she admitted defeat as she lied there patiently waiting.

Bridget watched as Franky settled in next to her, her smile amused. "I won't be long," Bridget spoke softly, holding her stare on the younger woman a moment longer before turning back to her report.

* * *

Bridget closed the folder holding her report and sighed. She decided finally that this would have to do. She turned, looking towards Franky. She had remained compliant and let Bridget work, occasionally running her fingers along Bridget's back. Now though, she was asleep, her arms still crossed behind her head.

She sighed one last time as she moved her work out of the way, clearing the bed. She looked once again at Franky, pausing as she stared at her quiet, sleeping face. She frowned slightly, knowing she had taken longer than she had expected on the report, and it was now too late to make it up to Franky.

She leaned over and turned off the light next to her bed. The room now dark, she moved back towards Franky. She slid both of them under a blanket as she wrapped her arm across Franky's front, cuddling into her side.

Franky then let out a drawn out breath, now waking up. She moved her arm around Bridget without thought, pulling her in closer. "About time, Gidge," she said half asleep, her eyes still closed.

Bridget moved closer into Franky, her hand delicately gliding up across her front and along her collarbone. "I know, I'm sorry." Her face was now nuzzled into Franky's neck.

Franky breathed in again, relaxing into Bridget's touch. She could feel her hand move across her softly, almost lulling her back into sleep. She felt her hand move along her chest, faintly tracing the outline of her tattoo there. She then felt Bridget's fingers carefully trail along the scar that it was hiding. Bridget had never asked about it, but Franky knew she was aware it was there; after all it wasn't the first time Bridget had run her touch along the markings. Franky opened her eyes, watching the movements of Bridget's hand. It was dark, but she could still make out the shape of it.

She had been thinking of what Bridget had said earlier. Indeed, she had had the time to, seeing as she had fallen asleep whilst waiting. Bridget, of course, was right. Franky had a lot of anger and charm, that much was obvious to anyone. But she also saw the walls Franky hid behind, and how she often skirted away from any topic hidden in those walls with quick misdirection. She had always done that. She had come to learn that most people will forget all about asking questions if the subject turns onto them, or something relevant to them. It was a tactic she had used for ages.

Bridget was never fooled though. Franky smiled a little, remembering their sessions at Wentworth. She had yet to encounter such a worthy adversary until Bridget. She was cool, calm, collected, and always saw when Franky was trying to divert attention away from herself. She would try and turn it onto Bridget, often unsuccessfully. And then Bridget—hardly phased— would always call Franky out on it and maintain focus. In a lot of ways, it just caused Franky to become even more attracted to her.

Then she thought about what Bridget had said when she had finally got through a wall; and Franky recalled one of her more vulnerable moments as she had broken down into her rawest form in front of the older woman. No one had ever succeeded in doing that without walking away with a few bruises—literally and metaphorically. Since then, Bridget had treaded carefully. She knew what topics were off-limits, and she seemed to respect that. Franky knew she wasn't oblivious; Bridget knew the scars of her past were there. But she never cornered Franky into confronting them like she had that day.

She could feel Bridget's fingers still drawing along her tattoo. She hadn't thought much of it until now; how Bridget actually did that occasionally with a lot of her tattoos. She would trace them idly with her fingers, but never really said anything about them. She realized that night that Bridget had been giving her the space to be open in her own time—if she even chose to at all. She hadn't realized until then the sort of respect and care Bridget had expressed just by saying nothing. Franky then felt an odd feeling of warmth, somehow falling for the woman even more.

Now that she could see Bridget wasn't going to push her, she also saw that she didn't want Bridget to be locked outside her walls. And the only way she was going to come in was if Franky let her. Franky took in another breath, as if mentally preparing herself.

"That's from Jacs," She spoke suddenly. Bridget paused her movements, not expecting Franky to be opening up. "She was top dog before me."

With Bridget cuddling into her right side, Franky then lifted up her left arm, recalling the time Bridget had noticed the new swirl tattoo Franky had given herself. "This one was when I sold my fucking dignity for protection, just to stay alive." She knew Bridget wouldn't really be able to see the tattoo in the dark, but she knew Bridget was aware of her tattoos and where. In fact, the darkness helped a little; it made it easier to be open, as if the dark allowed her to be less exposed.

Franky then gently grabbed hold of Bridget's hand that was still lying on her chest, and guided it down her front. She slid both their hands underneath her shirt, placing the woman's hand on her most private tattoo; the tree of flowers crawling up her side.

"This one," Franky continued, her voice now very quiet, her jaw tense, "Is for my mum." Bridget held still, knowing the topic of her mom was probably the most off-limits of all.

"I turned the cigarette burns into flowers," her voice seeming to carry a forced distance. "Flowers, and a fucking tree," she finished, her voice laced with bitter humor at the irony of turning something as heinous as flesh burns into something as pure as flower blossoms.

Bridget didn't move, partly because she was aware of the level of intimate disclosure Franky just gave her; but also because of the sharp pain she felt. She had known there was something different about that tattoo. Many times she had explored Franky's body, and had seen the morphed skin underneath the tattoo. She had always guessed it was related to some horrible endeavor. But hearing it came from cigarettes, from her mom, caused a stab in her heart on behalf of Franky. Of course, being a psychologist, she's heard many stories of some of the most awful things imaginable. Franky was so close to Bridget though, that it hurt to know her mom—who was supposed to be someone she could trust—had inflicted such gruesome and destructive pain. And knowing she would never be able to change that for Franky hurt even more.

Bridget carefully moved her hand that was still underneath Franky's. She caressed it along her side, along her tattoo, her touch soft. She lifted herself up, leaning on her elbow as she looked Franky in the eyes. It was still dark, but both their eyes had adjusted enough that they could still see each other. Bridget held her gaze, her eyes searching deeply into Franky's.

"Have you ever told anyone this before?" Bridget asked, her voice gentle.

Franky grimaced and shook her head, her expression characteristic of the unaffected, detached Franky; the one that gave the appearance of not being bothered at all.

Bridget held her stare, their eyes both locked on each other. Bridget could feel the tension of the moment, knowing that her next response was critical. Franky had let Bridget in in a way that was expressing a deep trust. Of course, she wanted to gain her trust, but with this sort of opportunity she had to be careful. This was Franky at her core; fully exposed and unguarded. She knew Franky absolutely despised pity. And with something as deep as this, to express any sort of sympathy or understanding would just be insulting—who could truly understand something like that without having gone through it?

Bridget continued running her hand along Franky's side, her touch tender. "You know," her voice was almost a whisper, "That's something about you I've thought a lot about."

Franky creased her eyebrows, inquiring as she replied "What? How fucked up I am?" Franky's defensive humor was returning.

"No," Bridget remained sincere. "You take the fucked up and turn it into something else; sometimes something beautiful even."

Franky was quiet.

"Do you know how many people I've seen come from something fucked up, and just get worse? Most people don't come back," She paused, her voice still quiet. "You're different, Franky. Like I've said, anger and hope—that's you." Bridget kept their eyes locked as she stopped moving her hand, letting it lie still in holding her.

Franky's face remained still, her eyes staying connected. Part of her wanted to instinctually resort to her defensive strategies of pushing away whatever made her feel threatened. But there was another part of her that knew she had no reason to feel threatened here; that it was just her learned fear trying to break through.

Franky moved her free arm and gently cupped Bridget's face in her hand. She held her hand still for a moment, then slowly trailed her fingers along her jawline and towards her chin, pulling her close as she leaned in. She softly captured her lips in hers and kissed her gently. It was a small kiss, but she hung close, their lips still almost touching. They stayed like that for a few moments longer, than Franky pulled back, lying back down.

Bridget wrapped her arm around Franky again, once more placing her head on her shoulder. She pulled the younger woman close, feeling Franky return the embrace. Bridget closed her eyes, her fingers returning to their idle caress along Franky's body.

 **AN: As you can see, I decided to continue the story. And I apologize for any confusion, I changed the title for the overall story; 'Breaking the Rules' now being the title of the first chapter.**

 **To those who reviewed: Thank you :)**


	3. You Were Dreaming

**You Were Dreaming**

 _It's quiet and dark. Everything seems still for a moment—like the world isn't moving, time isn't moving. There's a click. It's distant at first, perhaps even imagined. It echoes through her mind, filling the space all around. It clicks again, clearer now. It's familiar; it's a lighter. She breathes in the air. It's familiar, she knows this smell._

 _Franky turns, seeing the pinpoint glow of a burning cigarette. It's all she sees; the burning glow fading in and out, inhaling and exhaling. She hears the subtle crackle of paper and tobacco as they're consumed by ember, rising and falling with the rhythm of the glow. Her heart starts beating faster, she feels her body stiffen. She knows what this is._

 _Suddenly she's being held down. Someone's holding her down, their grip forcibly squeezing into her. She's too small to fight back; she doesn't even know how to fight back. She struggles, she's helpless—she's just not strong enough. She feels the stabbing burn penetrate her side, eating her skin. Her hands clench into fists as she desperately grasps at nothing._

" _He's gone because of you. You ruin everything," her voice growls. It's laced with hate._

 _It stabs her side again. Franky squeezes her eyes shut, feeling the stream of tears roll down her cheeks. She grits her teeth and whimpers; but she refuses to scream. She refuses to give her that satisfaction._

" _He didn't want you—nobody wants you. No one will ever love you," her voice is venomous now—her mother's voice. It's clear and sound, as clear as Franky remembers it. She continues to shut her eyes, trying to block out the pain. She smells her flesh burning and she'll never forget that smell. It fills the air and she can't escape it._

 _She opens her eyes. Her hand is burning. It's trapped in the steamer. Jacs has her trapped. Again she grits her teeth, she refuses to scream. She's released, and she falls to the floor. She withdrawals her hand and clutches it to herself, the pain firing through her nerves, consuming her every sense._

 _There's someone lying on the floor next to her. She glances to the side, and sees empty eyes staring back at her. They're hollow, but there's something inside them that won't let Franky go. It's the girl who died from the smuggled heroin in her gut; her life gone because Franky wasn't willing to let the gear go. Her eyes are devoid; just a shell of something that once was._

 _She feels the presence of someone standing over her now, and she looks up. It's Bea, and she's holding a razor. Bea slices her wrists, each slash tearing through without resistance. The life in her veins starts flowing out, dripping crimson to the floor. Franky pulls into herself and buries her head in her arms. She doesn't want to see this._

 _She hears Juice laughing now in the background—the same laugh from when Franky had finished her dirty deed. She's sitting in the prison shower, and feels disgusting. She feels tainted and used, and knows she's reached a whole new kind of low. She closes her eyes, letting the tears run. She hides it, pretending the tears and the water are the same. She feels alone._

 _She opens her eyes. She's not in the shower anymore; she's on the bed of her cell. Franky stands, and then furrows her eyebrows as she looks around. There's gardening tools here. She turns to the sink, a tray filled with contraband. There's a bag of pink powder—pink dragon._

 _Suddenly arms wrap around her from her behind. The tray clatters to the ground. He's pushing her down, bending her over the sink. Her pulse is racing, her adrenaline searing; her body now in full panic. She feels him maneuvering with the buckle of his pants, the warmth of his rugged breath crawling on her neck. She tries to fight back, to push free, but she's not strong enough. She feels him push against her, his arousal growing by her struggle and forced submission. Franky manages to break a hand free, and reaches out, gripping the handle of a gardening fork. She doesn't hesitate; she lunges it back, stabbing the man in the groin with ferocity. He screams, releasing her._

 _The barred doors start closing to her unit. Franky runs. She moves past the bars, and keeps running through the halls of Wentworth. There are people running everywhere. There's a riot, and there's chaos._

 _Franky turns the corner and stumbles upon a shiv on the floor. She picks it up. A hand grips her firmly from behind. Her instincts take over and Franky spins, stabbing the Governor. She feels the blade break the barrier of her body and sink in. But there's something different; it's not the white uniform. Then Franky's insides drop and her veins shoot cold. It's not the Governor— it's Bridget._

 _Bridget's eyes are wide with shock and fear. She looks at Franky, her face immobilized with hurt and confusion. Franky feels her heart wrench with a forceful pull, sucking her breath away. It's a pain she's never known. Then Bridget starts slipping away. She's falling to the ground now. Franky reaches out trying to pull her back in. But it's too late._

Franky's eyes shot open as she took a sharp intake of breath, the nerves running through her still coursing with fear. Her breathing was short and quick, the sweat on her skin still fresh. She sat up. The pounding of her heart was so strong she could actually feel it pulsing through her body. She struggled to swallow for a moment, her breath caught in her throat.

Almost as if in fear the dream had been real, Franky abruptly turned to look beside her. Bridget was still lying next to her. She was lying partly on her stomach, her face mixed in with a mesh of blanket and pillow. Franky breathed in deep and turned away, covering her head with her hands. She ran her fingers through her hair and clenched her hands shut, as if to grasp onto her own sanity and bring it back.

It was early in the morning and the sun was barely starting to break the dark. Franky closed her eyes. She could still feel the fear lingering. She couldn't shake it and the silence of the room wasn't helping; it was so mockingly in contrast with the terror of her dream. The stillness itself seemed to just keep the room frozen, allowing the remnants of her dream to hang close. She needed to get out of the room.

She threw the blanket off her and swung her legs off the bed. She stood and moved towards the door, heading to the kitchen. The kitchen floor was cool on her bare feet, seeming to help. She moved towards the sink and turned on the faucet, splashing her face with water. With her hands on the edge of the sink, she leaned over, watching the stream of water run. The noise seemed to soothe her, like it was washing out the images in her head. She took another deep breath.

Franky had done a good job so far in avoiding her conscience—that is, up until last night when Franky finally opened up to Bridget about her tattoos. Most of the time she blocked it out and buried it in the depths of her mind. Rarely did it surface and cause her to question herself; to resent herself. But this was different. It was like her mind turned against her and threw a barrage of all the awful things Franky knew to be lurking inside her. She had hurt those people; and some of them had hurt her. And sometimes she couldn't tell the difference—who was hurting whom. It was always a game, and there was never a winner. To win only meant to play again, and again.

She tightened her grip on the sink briefly and growled, then shut the water off. She turned around, now leaning back against the counter. All those people in her dream were just a few of the many times she's had to play. She never knew who to trust; not even herself. She'd been manipulated and played—as well been the manipulator and the player. But one thing was for sure; nothing good ever came out of it. Nothing good ever came from playing with Franky Doyle. Any one of those people would have wished they had never met her.

Franky felt a pain in her chest as she thought of Bridget and her dream. The look on her face had been so real, so blindsided, so betrayed. Was that her fate? - Was Franky a death sentence?

"Franky," Bridget's voice was soft.

Franky flinched as she looked up, startled by Bridget's sudden intrusion to her thoughts. The older woman was standing at the entrance to the kitchen, her face a mixture of question and concern.

"You okay?" Bridget's tone was easy despite seeing the distress on Franky's face. Her eyebrows creased with genuine care. The sun was hardly up, and she could see Franky was stark awake. She could see the intensity and tautness in her face.

Franky scrunched her nose and raised her eyebrows. "Good. I'm fine," she replied. Her tone was attempting to shrug off the matter, but her body wouldn't let her. She didn't notice, but her hands had returned to gripping the edge of the counter behind her; her muscle tone had considerably tensed; and she hadn't even blinked since Bridget came in. Her eyes quickly shifted back and forth, remaining fixated on Bridget's stare.

Bridget watched, making sure to remain calm. Franky was in a sensitive state right now, and she knew how reactive the younger woman could be. She moved toward Franky carefully, her movements slow and deliberate. She stopped in front of her and then slid her hand gently behind Franky's neck. Franky remained still, though Bridget still felt her stiffen at the touch. Her hand moved down her front and then onto her chest, where she stopped, letting her hand lie still. Her touch was gentle and calm, her eyes never leaving Franky's.

"Your heart is racing," Bridget stated quietly. Indeed, she could feel it beating beneath her palm. It was quick and strong, but more importantly, it was something Franky couldn't hide.

Franky didn't respond for a moment, but just continued to stare. Then she looked away dartingly, her face twisting into a glimpse of unease. She ran her fingers over the corners of her mouth as if to wipe—a tic she did when she was agitated. Then she looked back at Bridget, her face now turning into a front. She gently grabbed Bridget's hand and moved it away from her chest, letting it fall back to Bridget's side.

"I was just getting water," Franky's voice now had a little edge. She turned, pulling open the cabinet door overhead and grabbed a glass. She moved closer to the sink and turned on the faucet, using it as an excuse to step away from Bridget. The glass now full, she turned back around to meet Bridget's stare. She leaned back against the counter, now a few steps away. With the glass held in front of her, she raised it to her lips definitively, as if to prove her point.

Bridget crossed her arms, not bothering to entertain Franky's façade. "You were dreaming." It was a statement, not a question.

Franky's jaw tensed. She placed the glass down on the counter next to her and crossed her arms in front of her. She raised her eyebrows and shrugged, "Yeah. I do that sometimes." Her tone was now bordering sarcasm.

Bridget's stare remained composed. Franky was getting defensive. Whatever she had been dreaming had clearly triggered something. Bridget of course had known Franky had been dreaming; she had woken up a moment before Franky had. It had been her quickened breathing that woke her up. It was intense and fearful, and her body had become rigid. She had wanted to say something then, but had quickly thought better of it. In that sort of condition, she knew Franky's instincts would be in overdrive. And for Franky, that usually meant attack. Not that she felt Franky would ever intentionally hurt her, but she was also aware enough of Franky's past to know better than to try and reach her in such a primal state. When it came to instincts, intention was irrelevant. She had decided to let Franky calm down a little first. Unfortunately, she could see that Franky hadn't quite calmed down, and now she was starting to bare her teeth.

Bridget decided not to heed the warning though. It would be different had she actually been asking out of her own interest. But she hadn't been looking for anything that would set Franky off; it just happened. Which made it all the more important to address. The decision was mostly just a matter of intuitive judgment whether she would push or not. And here, she felt like Franky's wound was unexplainably bleeding, and she wasn't going to just ignore it. Not to mention, if she backed off every time Franky got angry, they would never get anywhere. For most people, it was enough to scare them off; but for Bridget, it usually just piqued her curiosity even more. In fact, Bridget usually considered Franky's reactance a sign that there was something of deeper root she was digging up.

"And do they always wake you up in a sweat?" Bridget calmly challenged.

Franky scoffed a laughed and then ran her tongue across her teeth. She cocked her eyebrow and gave Bridget a sneer as she looked her up and down. "What, you gonna analyze my dreams now, Freud?" Her voice had a bite now.

Bridget's face didn't change. She gave no sort of reaction to Franky's comment; she knew all too well what she was doing. Bridget had observed Franky enough to know that she would often lash out and provoke when she felt threatened. It was her strategy of getting a reaction out of the other, and in turn, veering the attention away from herself. The key was not to get sucked into her provocations.

Franky furrowed her eyebrows in irritation, understanding Bridget's resolute stare to mean she wasn't going to change the subject. "You don't want to know what I dream," Franky pointed her finger, her gesture accentuating her remark. She continued, her voice constrained with pent anger, "You wouldn't be standing here if you did."

"And why is that?" Bridget coolly inquired. Now she felt like she was getting somewhere.

"Because it's fucked, Gidge," Franky's temper flaring, "You think you know me because you saw me through to parole, but you have no idea what I've done; who I am." She was now pointing at herself, her eyes glaring with projected anger.

"Who you were," Bridget reasoned. She kept her focus, determined to keep Franky from reacting to her own stirring conscience.

"Is there a difference?!" Franky cracked, throwing her arms up exasperatingly.

Bridget frowned, her eyebrows slanting in concern.

Franky scoffed an ironic laugh as she let her hands fall to her side, defeated. "Jesus Gidge, it's not like it wasn't me who still did all those things, hurt all those people. I've fucked people over again and again; I've played people and used people. Got inside their heads," she pinned her finger to her temple, her voice bitter. "Everyone around me gets fucked over one way or another." Franky crossed her arms, her glare piercing.

"That may be what you're used to," Bridget continued, trying to stress the past tense. Just because that was how it was, didn't mean it had to be that way now. Franky's life had changed, and she needed to expect that other things would change too. Bridget's tone was patient, for she knew it was going to take a while before Franky could see things were different; that she didn't have to keep looking over her shoulder anymore.

"Because that's what happens," Franky spoke firmly. She was convinced it was true.

Bridget held her glare, her attention fixated. It was becoming clear that Franky was not going to be convinced through reason. Her jaw tightened, her mind now piecing together why Franky was suddenly falling back into her assertion of not being a good person. In some part of Franky's mind, she was sure that everyone around her was going to end up worse off; and as of right now, Bridget was one of the very few people in Franky's life. With Franky now pushing her away, Bridget could only conclude that she was afraid their closeness would end up in someone's turmoil—seemingly Bridget's. Indeed, when it came to getting close to anyone, that's all Franky had really known.

Bridget crossed her arms, her lips thinning as she contemplated what she could say that would make Franky see this situation was entirely different. No one had a knife to her throat; there was no game to be played; and there was no hidden agenda. Franky just wasn't seeing how her own paranoia was self-defeating. She drew in a deep breath.

Bridget began, "There's a difference in who you want to be and who you need to be. You've spent a lot of time being who you needed to be—"

Franky scoffed again, shaking her head.

Bridget pushed on firmly, her tone refusing to be ignored "—when your back was against a wall." She paused for a moment, letting her point stand. Franky stared.

"But you're not backed into a corner here, Franky." Bridget's tone was stern. She held her arms up, her hands open; her gesture now making the point that she wasn't the enemy here. Her tone also telling Franky that she hadn't done anything to warrant the lashing either.

Franky bit her lip, her stare otherwise remaining unmoved. Bridget returned the look, both seeming to be in a stand-off.

"You want to know what I think?" Bridget continued her tone low and assured.

Franky's jaw tightened, her stare unwavering. She gave Bridget no response.

"I think you're scared." Bridget remained calm, her voice unprovocative. She knew she was challenging Franky, but she wasn't doing it with the intention of riling her up. She was just telling Franky her honest perception. "I think you're close to someone and that scares the shit out of you, because all that has ever meant for you is that someone gets hurt. And I think you respond to fear by lashing out—you're cutting off the head before anything can happen."

Bridget stepped towards Franky, moving closer. Franky crossed her arms in front of her, her jaw tensed.

"And I think that's a copout," Bridget said quietly, though pointedly.

Franky didn't move. Her eyes darted back and forth, searching Bridget's eyes. It was a rare occurrence that someone would so blatantly call her out. As much as it aggravated her defiance, she did have respect for Bridget for doing it. Part of what made Bridget so good for Franky was her unwillingness to let Franky walk all over her. Often Franky had been with women who let her do whatever she wanted—and if they disagreed, it just simply didn't matter. Bridget, on the other hand, would never let Franky overstep her bounds. And nor did Bridget ever try and dominate Franky. She was balanced and resolute, and she was smart enough to keep Franky in check without eliciting her bad side.

Bridget then gave Franky a small smile, her voice now soft, "Don't fool yourself into thinking you're protecting me by pushing me out. I'm not afraid of you, Franky, or who you've been."

Franky felt her shoulders lax, her jaw loosen. Bridget's uncanny perception was seeing right through her. Bridget knew. She knew Franky was pushing her away as some fucked up way to care for her. Franky finally looked away and glanced to the side, feeling her flare waver away. She looked back at Bridget, her expression still unsettled, but no longer dangerous.

"Guess you're not as smart as I thought then," Franky replied somewhat seriously, though her cheekiness was starting to leak back into her voice.

Bridget gave a humorous smile, her eyes softening. She felt her own tension subside seeing as Franky was finally coming back down. She then looked down at her hands, knowing that tension had come from Franky trying to push her away. Looking back at Franky, she felt unsure for a moment, always a little unaccustomed to revealing her own feelings given her profession. She held her stare though, her voice quiet and sincere, "I am afraid of losing you, though."

Franky kept her stare intent, her face expressionless. The rest of her demeanor seemed to melt however, her stance no longer guarded. Bridget had been absolutely right; Franky was afraid to be this close to someone, and her scapegoat was usually to take the first punch before she even had the chance to get hurt. Bridget wasn't going to feed into it though, and on the contrary, had just admitted that she was afraid of not having Franky around. At this point, Franky realized, she was in too deep. She couldn't push Bridget away without hurting them both; she wouldn't be protecting anyone.

Franky finally sighed and looked away for a moment, then looking back at Bridget, gave her crooked smile. She reached forward and lightly pulled Bridget closer by the front of her shirt. Bridget smoothly slid into Franky's hands, allowing the younger woman's arms to wrap around her waist now. Franky kept her smile, her look now slightly coy.

"Kind of fancy me, do ya?" Franky's voice was warm now, her defenses faded away.

Bridget laughed and slid her arms to hang loosely around Franky's neck. Franky smiled. She closed her eyes then, and leaned her forehead against Bridget's. She felt one of Bridget's hands delicately glide along her jawline, keeping her close.

"In prison, it was never good when things were quiet. It just meant something was going to happen; something was brewing," Franky's voice was almost a whisper now, "I just keep waiting for something to happen." Her eyebrows were furrowed now, her eyes still closed. It was the closest thing for an explanation she could give Bridget as to why she was acting like this.

Bridget kept her close, her hand still holding her face, her eyes closed. "I know," Bridget's voice was just as quiet, and full of understanding, "It might feel like that for a while."

* * *

 **AN: As always, thank you so much for reading, and thank you for the reviews.  
**

 **MJ**


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